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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549264">How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept My Fate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dividing By Zero Like A Wrecking Crew [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Afterlife, Crack Treated Seriously, Death doesn’t give a shit about your name, Dream clutches his way out of this, Gen, George is depressed, God’s very chill about this, Or does he, The Devil is pleased to make your acquaintance and then fuck you over, and jschlatt references exist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:46:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“George?”</p><p>The man only smiles in a way that Dream is all too familiar with. “Not George, actually. I am God.”</p><p>What.</p><p>The statement is so ludicrous, he doesn’t try to stop the snort that escapes his mouth. “Yeah,” he snickers, “and I’m the Queen of England. What’s with the suit?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dividing By Zero Like A Wrecking Crew [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept My Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yeah, this shit is the reason why I haven’t updated any of my stories in so long lol.</p><p>Any puns/references were intentionally made in this story. Shit also hits the fan real quickly, so buckle up for this one. Thanks for droppin by to read this, fellow MCYT fandom-hopper.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">He wakes up with a jolt, only to see an endless amount of white.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Needless to say, Dream figured this had to be the middle of fucking nowhere through the thick fog in his brain. His eyes were crusty enough to make him wince as he attempted to open them, his mouth tasted nasty and his teeth hurt. Add to that the fact that he had no idea where he was, and it was a standard kidnapping situation.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Except... he was sitting on a chair.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream tries to open his eyes, noticing that his hands were not tied. He reached out around him, only to feel a padded armrest. He didn’t think they gave padded armrests to potentially kidnapped people.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He touched his face, feeling his mask. <em>Good</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His eyes widened as he shifted his gaze down, and spotted a table. Birch. Polished. Strange.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Where the fuck-</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He looked up and almost fell out of his chair.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">On the opposite side sat George, frowning at some paperwork as he went about writing something with a pink colored pen, without a worry in the world. Dream only stared, eyes burning and tearing up with how goddamn bright it was in the room.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man looked up, his clout goggles shifting slightly on his head. “Oh. You’re finally awake.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He’s wearing a white suit, more spotless than the room itself. Its so clean it makes his debuts as a speedrunner seem littered with swear words.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream says the only thing he can think of at that exact moment, because seeing his usually chaotic friend so calm and composed made his own cool and tactical persona flinch a good ten feet back.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“George?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man only smiles in a way that Dream is all too familiar with. “Not George, actually. I am God.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">What.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The statement is so ludicrous, he doesn’t try to stop the snort that escapes from his mouth. “Yeah,” he snickers, “and I’m the Queen of England. What’s with the suit?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, you can’t be,” and George frowns. “I double checked my file on you- wait a second, actually... Death, where are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There’s a cloud of black smoke, a figure in black strolls out of the cloud. “Right here, in a record... yep, one point seventy seven milliseconds. What d’you need, boss?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream only stares. “Technoblade?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Techno looks... edgy, to say the least. He has a black, weird-looking cloak-thing that doubles as a cape, and his pink hair looked dull under the dark hood. He looks about as pale as a scared ghost, with his eyes glinting like scarlet rubies and the veins under his skin visible for all to see. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man just looked like he’d started listening to My Chemical Romance for forty hours a day, that’s probably what it was.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Techno only blinks, before smirking. “Ah. You’re the soul I reaped earlier today. Nice to meet you again.. what was your name? Brick?” His voice was as monotone as ever, and it still sent a wave of unease through his stomach. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I- wha-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You probably don’t remember me though. Figures. That means that the neuralization process still works, so that’s fine. You’re a nice guy, Gravel.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Death,” George snaps, cutting him off before he could go on another tirade. “Show me the list of those souls I gave you six months ago. Did I put the Queen of England on it? I am quite sure I did.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">A iPad materializes out of thin air, right into Techno’s hands. He fiddles with the volume buttons for about two minutes, before Dream coughs.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Uh... it’s the button there.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Where?” Techno’s eyes flick up to meet his under half-closed eyelids, and there’s a dangerous sort of bored air around him, Dream realizes, kind of like the kind around a person who was so bored they became unpredictable. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Before he can ponder on that some more, he finds his mouth opening with a response.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“On the... yeah, the frame.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh. Thanks, Terracota.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wha- my name’s Clay, idiot,” he bites back, to which the pink-haired man shrugs like he hadn’t just called him after the stuff he’d seen in the Mesa biomes around his hometown. “Same thing, Sand.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream lets out a startled laugh. “What the fuck is up with you two?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Techno dutifully ignores him, and flips through what he assumes are pages. “No, boss. Nothin’ ‘bout the Queen last month. Or before that.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What about the last few weeks?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">A minute of silence, and Dream suddenly snaps back to reality, face twisting into an incredulous expression. “Who-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nope,” and Techno pops the ‘p’ like it’s a bubble made of chewing gum. “You sure the order didn’t get lost in the mail again?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">George scowls. “Oh Me, that’s annoying. Remind me to send it to you again later this week.” He beams at Dream, and the sudden one-eighty the man’s attitude had taken has him reeling. “Thanks a lot for reminding me, Dream. Or should I call you Clay?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Who the fuck are you?” Dream hisses suddenly, standing up and taking a few steps backwards. “You aren’t George, and you,” he points at the man who looks like an emo Techno, “you’re definitely not Techno.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Tech-know? What the heck is that, a human show or something?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Not-George rolls his eyes. “Death, go back to your duties. This doesn’t concern you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man shrugs. “Au revoir, Dirt,” he announces, and before Dream can yell at him about his name again, pops out of existence.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He turns to smile at Dream, who’s backed away, eyes wide. “Sit down, Clay. There is a lot you must know.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, I know a lot,” Dream responds, glaring at the person wearing his best friend’s face like an ornament. “All I need to know is who the hell are you, and why you look like-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He pauses when he sees a flare of something in the man’s eyes. Offense.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hell?” He says slowly, eyes narrowed. “Did you just say hell?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Uh,” the blond haired man racks his brain for what he deems a smart answer to a question that could potentially decide his fate by the looks of things. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Not-George suddenly smiles widely; it’s like the clouds disappeared and the sun was coming up in the distance, rays splashing over land like waves against the sea shore. “Great! Then we’re fine. You see,” he clasps his hands together in a very un-George like way, “I am God. This, Clay, is the afterlife. Or the door to it, actually. You’re not exactly there yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You’re God. <em>You</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream thinks he shouldn’t laugh, but laughs anyway, masking it with a cough or two. The man in front of him doesn’t seem to notice anything strange about his inopportune coughing fit, instead waving an arm about.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Blessed you,” he says, and winks. Dream never wants to see George wink at him ever again. He’s pretty sure this is a giant joke anyway, so he plays along.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But what about Techno?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ah, you mean Death. He appears as the person you... envy is a strong word, but it’s something like that.” God seems to thinking of a way to put it, oblivious to how Dream scowls. “I’m not jealous of that pig.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, not jealous.” He snaps his fingers. “For instance, you aspire to reach Techno’s level of excellence when it comes to- well, whatever it is that you do.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I- he’s good, but he’s not that good!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But that aside, I appear as the to-be-judged’s favorite person, or the one they happen to be the most comfortable with.” God, or so he’s told, shrugs and explains. “Although, I am quite surprised it is George I appear to you as. I would’ve thought that after...”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream’s brow furrows. “After what?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing of importance. Now, onto better matters. You know,” he chuckles lightly, “where you’re going now. That’s a better thing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Am... am I going to heaven?” Dream asks, eyes wide as watches God wad up a paper and toss it somewhere behind him. The paper vanishes. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It seems that you...” the deity flips through a few pages, before nodding with a smile. “Yes. Yes, you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream pumps a fist in the air. “Heck yeah!” He knew that stealing that pack of gummy worms from George’s house earlier that week wouldn’t have condemned him to eternal torture. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But,” and there’s that stupid smile George always gives him when he fucks up a Minecraft Manhunt shoot. “You do have to spend some time in hell first. No human’s perfect and all that, and neither are - or were - you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wait- what?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Naturally, it won’t take you long! It’s a short while according to your report, and then you’ll be back up here again. Don’t you worry!” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream’s expression contorts into one of suspicion. “How long does ‘short’ mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God flips through some more pages in a rather fat handwritten book, which severely confuses him because he’d just seen Death use an iPad instead of a register. “Hm. That would be about- how much is eternity divided by ninety nine thousand two hundred and seventy three?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The masked man only blinks. “Eternity?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He gets a look. “Yes, that’s what I said. Do you have a calculator?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Uh, no.” He checks his pockets after that just in case, thankful when he didn’t feel anything except his wallet and his diamond Swiss Army knife.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wonderful. I’ll just add twenty more years to your sentence-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“For not having a calculator?” Dream splutters, eyes wide. “You don’t have one either!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yes, but I’m God. I don’t need to be condemned.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But you’re God! You can just- I dunno, make one?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God frowns at that. “You do have a point. Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream doesn’t relax at all, because at the rate he was going he’d end up in hell for the rest of whatever eternity was. “Uh-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh yes!” The deity turns to him and grins, all teeth. “Only a mere six hundred years.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His eyes bulge out. “<em>Six hundred</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’ll go past in a flash! Just a few years-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Six <em>centuries</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“-of torture, maybe a little arson, and that’s it! You’ll be back here in time for the Annual Heavenly Feast too. I say that’s a great deal! You are spending eternity in heaven after that, think about it!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream swallows away his smart-aleck retorts to everything wrong with that statement, wishing he hadn’t stolen those gummy worms. “Is there any way I can... uh, y’know, not go to hell?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God shakes his head gravely. “No can do, my friend. I bid you farewell, and good luck.” He reaches for the giant red button on the side of the table, preparing to slam his fist against it just as Dream shouts, “No! <em>Wait</em>!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The deity stops. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>Just stall,</em> his brain supplies.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>For what, eternity?</em> he yells back, but he does it anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“How- how exactly did I die?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh. If it makes you feel better, it was an accident.” God looks almost pityingly at him, but Dream knows that it isn’t genuine at all. “George ran you over with his scooter after you and that other British boy walked out of that- what do you humans call it? The Pizza Shack, or something. I cried watching it.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His mouth goes dry. “George killed me?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yes. He was trying to park it, but he ran you over instead. Very, very sad. He’s upset.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t know what to think of that, so he nods, speechless. Mostly, Dream’s in shock over the fact that George even brought a scooter with him to a Pizza Hut.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wait, so then why would you take the form of George when he fucking <em>killed</em> me?” Dream shouts.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I wasn’t gonna tell you that!” God insists. “You asked.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You could’ve just made something up!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I can’t lie, Clay. I’m God. I set the example for all the rules around here. If I didn’t, who would?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream glares at the table. Stupid thing. “Tell me one thing - does he go to hell for it?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“When he dies? Oh, it won’t be pleasant for him. Homicide never is.” Dream nods at that. “Okay. Good.” God’s expression turns sour at that.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wait, that makes me a bad person, doesn’t it.” God nods. “Another thirty to your sentence I suppose.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He suddenly looks thoughtful, but Dream isn’t sure what it looks like on George’s face. “In fact, his name was one of the few I gave to Death earlier today-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wait-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And suddenly, a very familiar figure pops up next to Dream, slouched over and miserable.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“George?” Dream turns to look at his so called friend, who looks straight up depressed. “You’re dead too? How?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I couldn’t live without you, Dream,” the man responds, staring at nothing as he speaks. “I couldn’t live with the guilt. The pain. The loneliness.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Aw,” Dream grins, and places a hand on his shoulder. George reciprocates almost instantly. “What about Sapnap?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“He and Skeppy went to Disneyland together.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream doesn’t understand how that justifies anything. But before he can open his mouth to question him, God tsks with a cancerous amount of disapproval.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Murder and suicide? Dear Me, I wouldn’t want to be you. That adds another twenty millennia to your sentence, Jack.” God watches the two with what looks like empathy, before slamming his fist down in the red button.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The ground opens up under George, and Dream leaps back as the man screams and falls into red and yellow flames. The ground seals back with a pop cutting off the screaming, and soon enough, it’s like nothing ever happened as God sits back, humming to himself. “I love doing that,” he sighs, and Dream looks at him, disturbed. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“That was hell?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, you’re still here?” God rolls his eyes as he reaches towards the button again-</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, no, wait!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God looks at him. “What now?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Can I,” and Dream tries to come up with a convincing argument, “just, well- not go to hell? Is there any way? Please. I’ll do anything else.” He sits down, watching the deity think about it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God stares at him, before leaning forward. Dream leans forward as well. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Do you have kelp?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream probably misheard that. “What did you say?” he whispers back.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Kelp. I prefer the dried kind, but anything will do.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He checks his pockets, and there’s definitely something there that isn’t his wallet or Swiss Army knife. “I can do you one better,” Dream responds proudly, and puts down an entire dried kelp block.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God snatches it up, sniffing it greedily. Or no, probably in a godly way. Greed wasn’t possible in this scenario. “Ah yes. My enslaved cannabis. I sent my messenger with the secrets of kep a long time ago, but he never told me of this. Then you humans started worshipping the wrong messenger because I called the other one back up to tell him off.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You mean Jesus?” Dream questions, and he doesn’t flinch even as another figure materializes behind God, holding what looks like a Notch Apple.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God now looks like he wants to slap Dream, but leans even closer and whispers furiously instead. “Why in the worlds would you say his name? He’s sensitive to that kind of thing! And all he does all day is- well, look at him.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man hugs the apple, before holding it up to his face. Dream looks away after that, completely ignoring how God just casually said ‘worlds’.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Sorry,” he says, wheezing slightly. “Is he actually-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No, that would be obscene, and I would have to send to him to hell.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But there’s nothing in the Bible that says something against men lying with apples.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh for My sake! I don’t write every detail of the universe and myself in a human-accessible book! Why would anyone do that?” God looks disgusted as he adjusts his pale green tie that definitely hadn’t been pale green a second ago. “Some things are just obvious! Why would I need to say anything about fruit fetishes?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream decides to take his chances with what he says next. “I mean, you did basically make being gay a sin, so-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“When did I do that?” God asks, confused. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The rest of this conversation has now been removed, because the author realizes that it’s getting far too religious for anyone’s tastes, and they don’t want to get into an argument about holy book verses.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But anyway,” God huffs, “I’ve had enough of you humans doubting me. Farewell, Clay.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But I gave you the kelp!” Dream protests. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“This isn’t kelp, you cretin. You don’t think I know my drugs? This is GTA money, the same kind you get after running over a pedestrian!” He frowns. “Should I make that a sin? I should probably make that sin.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream’s been caught, but he still tries to work this into his favor. “Look, aren’t you God? You can probably find some other thing for me to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’m sorry, Clay. I don’t make the rules.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream blinks, before turning to smirk at God, who smirks back.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ayyy,” they say together, flashing finger guns at each other. “Nice one,” Dream wheezes, before God grins and reaches for the button.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No!” He shouts, and God stops, annoyed. “What is it now?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Could I at least have a preview of what’s to come? Like, so I can prepare myself for it.” He fumbles for his wallet, looking for a very specific dark green sphere. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God shrugs. “You’re lucky I actually like GTA V. I believe the graphics are spectacular. But no, you don’t get a preview.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Because it would ruin your experience! The reviews would be terrible,” God snaps. “What good is a movie with spoilers?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But there’s trailers for movies.” Dream actually has to think about that for a second. “In fact, I don’t think anyone would be interested in a movie without the spoilers in the trailers.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Just,” God splutters, pissed. “Go to hell already. I don’t have all day.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dream’s ready, ender pearl in hand. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God slams his fist down onto the button.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Meanwhile, George is not having a good day. Or night. Whatever. You couldn’t tell in hell.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The author will put it like this: grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and George screams. Just another one of those things. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He wasn’t having a good day even before this, so there’s that. Now, as he stumbles around over the heat-scorched red plains, half blind and unable to breathe over the sheer heat, he falls to his knees.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When he looks up, it’s his own face he sees, grinning widely in a way that’s probably maniacal. George didn’t think he could ever seem maniacal.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Who- who are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Me? Welcome to hell, Jason,” the man sings, folding his arms over his clean-pressed black suit. “I am the Devil. And I appear as the person that you hate the most.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Myself,” George whispers. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The Devil nods. “Great observation there, buddy. Now,” he cracks his knuckles, smiling some more. “It’s time for the fun to begin!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Wait!” George screams, his throat raw. “C- Can I-“</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No! What do you think this is, a self-service platform? Get outta here with that self-gratification shit!” His own face smirks at him. “‘Course, unless it’s procrastination involved with crippling self-hate and degradation of sanity we’re talking about. I love that stuff.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I- I’m talking about that stuff.” He says. “And my name’s George.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You are? Funny. I could’ve sworn you were lying. About both those things!”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No! I swear I’m not.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The Devil scowls. “Pal, do you know who I am? Promises mean nothing to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Please. Don’t do this.” George rasps past his burning lungs.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man seems to think about it. “What can you give me that I don’t already have? I’m the Devil, buddy.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">George thinks hard, wishing Dream was with him at that very moment. He’d know what to say. “Does God- like, pay you for this?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The deity seems to think about that. “Come to think of it,” the man hisses, “the fucker hasn’t paid anyone in a few centuries now!” He waves an arms around, glaring at the landscape. “Then they wonder why hell is so goddamn low budget! No shit it is. The ass doesn’t part with anything at all when it comes to going way downstairs.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I can get him to give you your wages if you let me talk to him,” George tries, feeling a little bit of hope that he knows his dangerous. “My friend’s up there with him. We can talk him into it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ah, the one you murdered in cold blood?” The Devil grins wider, if possible. “Interesting. He was due here a while ago, but I wonder why he isn’t here yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Don’t think about it, George tells himself. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“He probably got stuck on a rock on the way here,” George says, and nearly jumps a mile high into the air at the booming laugh that leaves the Devil. “Heh. Comedy,” he says weakly, to which he receives another chuckle.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You’re funny,” the Devil admits. “But you still haven’t told me what you can possibly give me in exchange for your time here.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I can get you your budget,” George says in a way that he hopes is confident. “I’ll talk God into it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You will?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The Devil thinks. Then he smirks. “Nah. I think I’ll take my chances.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But we had a deal!” George protests, to which the man laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You know, I would keep you around for jokes if I could. But in hell, everyone lies, pal. It’s just how it is.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">George knows it’s fruitless to argue further. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The Devil claps his hands to the tune of Techno’s Blitz Survival Games’ Parody song. “Brilliant! Let’s do this, shall we?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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